Here's to Greatness
by Son Rhandi
Summary: Gazelle Man and Seiuchin reflect on their (losing) history in the ring. PG for drinking.


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Disclaimer: I don't own Ultimate Muscle/Kinnikuman II. No additional comments this time. 

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Notes: Everyone needs to get off Gazelle Man's nads. Though it's true he's never won a match, he's a contender. A fic, because I feel bad for him. This came out okay, I guess…

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Here's to Greatness

By Son Rhandi

The luck of it all… The weather report said it'd be a bright, sunny day, but the sky was a drab gray, like ashes. Gazelle Man's ears drooped, another day without waking to sunshine, to blue skies... The window was open and he at its sill, casting a melancholy glance to the city below. Ants, all of them. He wasn't much for this four-seasons stuff. At least back home, he'd get a guarantee of a steady weather patterns--It either rained for a while or it didn't rain for a while and that was that. 

It had been a hot night, soaked his undershirt good and well, a fact making itself present to his sense of smell. He cursed the ceiling fan, breaking two days earlier, and Harabote, too, for giving him the room with no air conditioning. A great wrestler such as he should be treated to top-notch accommodations..! But then, as much as he'd like to believe otherwise, he'd never known the feeling of victory in the ring. 

And as far as he knew, Seiuchin's room didn't have central air, either… 

His ear flapped, a drop of cold water breaking on it, then another, and another… _And it rains, too. Terrific…_ This was the only place where he could hate the rain. Had he been back in the homeland, Tanzania, he'd have welcomed the precipitation. In any case, going out today was a definite 'no'. Sighing, the stag dragged his feet to the refrigerator and wrapped his fingers around a beer. "So, today's an inside day, huh?" He asked the air, popping the top. "I'll call Seiuchin over, then."

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"I got some Wild Turkey. Want any?"

"No, thanks. I don't drink."

"There's some ginger ale in the fridge. You can have at that."

"Thanks."

"You know something, Seiuchin?" The gazelle began, uncapping his booze. "We are a couple of **great** wrestlers…"

The walrus raised a brow in question. "Are you being sarcastic?"

"Couldn't you tell?" The red one chuckled, pouring his first shot of brew. "Neither of us had had a good performance in the ring since we graduated. I'm finally able to admit that to myself…" Gazelle Man smiled sadly, ears dropping a bit.

"But still," the pinniped turned his fist, a sharp his from the two liter arising. "That doesn't make us horrible wrestlers, does it?"

"Only if striking out every time doesn't make you a horrible batter." Gazelle rubbed his temple and sighed. "It's just so damned frustrating when you can't… get a break…"

"I wouldn't worry. You graduated with Best Wrestler honors, remember? I got Best Use of Weight, too. That ought to say something."

"Yeah. That's what I kept telling myself." He moved the small glass between his thumb and forefinger. "Fact of the matter is, that only serves to make us look worse."

"Well, what can we do..?" Seiuchin shrugged, his cup bubbling with carbonated drink. "It's skill and luck that wins the match. Unfortunately, our luck has yet to show itself."

"Hmph. A win is more due to skill than luck…" Gazelle gave himself a refill. "Liquor tends to make things feel alright. I want to drown in it."

"You're going to kill your liver…"

"So let it die. I'm more likely to lose my life in the ring than to cirrhosis of the liver, Seiu. Jade's Red Rain of Berlin, for example."

"Ah." Seiuchin stepped to the freezer for ice. "In any case, Gazelle, there will always be a chance for the both of us to come out on top. Until it arises, we'll just have to work at becoming better wrestlers."

"So then," the blood-red buck lifted his glass. "Here's to becoming better men in the ring."

"To greatness."

They clinked glasses in camaraderie and downed their drinks, wishing for the luck and skill that could give them at least one victory to look back on fondly. 


End file.
